War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy

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merrily began to devise and carry out a plan of how Princess Maryshould be dressed. Princess Mary's self-esteem was wounded by the factthat the arrival of a suitor agitated her, and still more so by bothher companions' not having the least conception that it could beotherwise. To tell them that she felt ashamed for herself and for themwould be to betray her agitation, while to decline their offers todress her would prolong their banter and insistence. She flushed,her beautiful eyes grew dim, red blotches came on her face, and ittook on the unattractive martyrlike expression it so often wore, asshe submitted herself to Mademoiselle Bourienne and Lise. Both thesewomen quite sincerely tried to make her look pretty. She was soplain that neither of them could think of her as a rival, so theybegan dressing her with perfect sincerity, and with the naive and firmconviction women have that dress can make a face pretty.

"No really, my dear, this dress is not pretty," said Lise, lookingsideways at Princess Mary from a little distance. "You have a maroondress, have it fetched. Really! You know the fate of your whole lifemay be at stake. But this one is too light, it's not becoming!"

It was not the dress, but the face and whole figure of Princess Marythat was not pretty, but neither Mademoiselle Bourienne nor the littleprincess felt this; they still thought that if a blue ribbon wereplaced in the hair, the hair combed up, and the blue scarf arrangedlower on the best maroon dress, and so on, all would be well. Theyforgot that the frightened face and the figure could not be altered,and that however they might change the setting and adornment of thatface, it would still remain piteous and plain. After two or threechanges to which Princess Mary meekly submitted, just as her hairhad been arranged on the top of her head (a style that quite alteredand spoiled her looks) and she had put on a maroon dress with apale-blue scarf, the little princess walked twice round her, nowadjusting a fold of the dress with her little hand, now arrangingthe scarf and looking at her with her head bent first on one sideand then on the other.

"No, it will not do," she said decidedly, clasping her hands. "No,Mary, really this dress does not suit you. I prefer you in your littlegray everyday dress. Now please, do it for my sake. Katie," she saidto the maid, "bring the princess her gray dress, and you'll see,Mademoiselle Bourienne, how I shall arrange it," she added, smilingwith a foretaste of artistic pleasure.

But when Katie brought the required dress, Princess Mary remainedsitting motionless before the glass, looking at her face, and saw inthe mirror her eyes full of tears and her mouth quivering, ready toburst into sobs.

The three voices, hers, Mademoiselle Bourienne's, and Katie's, whowas laughing at something, mingled in a merry sound, like the chirpingof birds.

"No, leave me alone," said Princess Mary.

Her voice sounded so serious and so sad that the chirping of thebirds was silenced at once. They looked at the beautiful, large,thoughtful eyes full of tears and of thoughts, gazing shiningly andimploringly at them, and understood that it was useless and even cruelto insist.

"At least, change your coiffure," said the little princess."Didn't I tell you," she went on, turning reproachfully toMademoiselle Bourienne, "Mary's is a face which such a coiffure doesnot suit in the least. Not in the least! Please change it."

"Leave me alone, please leave me alone! It is all quite the sameto me," answered a voice struggling with tears.

Mademoiselle Bourienne and the little princess had to own tothemselves that Princess Mary in this guise looked very plain, worsethan usual, but it was too late. She was looking at them with anexpression they both knew, an expression thoughtful and sad. Thisexpression in Princess Mary did not frighten them (she neverinspired fear in anyone), but they knew that when it appeared on herface, she became mute and was not to be shaken in her determination.

"You will change it, won't you?" said Lise. And as Princess Marygave no answer, she left the room.

Princess Mary was left alone. She did not comply with Lise'srequest, she not only left her hair as it was, but did not even lookin her glass. Letting her arms fall helplessly, she sat withdowncast eyes and pondered. A husband, a man, a strong dominant andstrangely attractive being rose in her imagination, and carried herinto a totally different happy world of his own. She fancied achild, her own- such as she had seen the day before in the arms of hernurse's daughter- at her own breast, the husband standing by andgazing tenderly at her and the child. "But no, it is impossible, Iam too ugly," she thought.

"Please come to tea. The prince will be out in a moment," came themaid's voice at the door.

She roused herself, and felt appalled at what she had been thinking,and before going down she went into the room where the icons hung and,her eyes fixed on the dark face of a large icon of the Saviour litby a lamp, she stood before it with folded hands for a few moments.A painful doubt filled her soul. Could the joy of love, of earthlylove for a man, be for her? In her thoughts of marriage PrincessMary dreamed of happiness and of children, but her strongest, mostdeeply hidden longing was for earthly love. The more she tried to hidethis feeling from others and even from herself, the stronger itgrew. "O God," she said, "how am I to stifle in my heart thesetemptations of the devil? How am I to renounce forever these vilefancies, so as peacefully to fulfill Thy will?" And scarcely had sheput that question than God gave her the answer in her own heart."Desire nothing for thyself, seek nothing, be not anxious orenvious. Man's future and thy own fate must remain hidden from thee,but live so that thou mayest be ready for anything. If it be God'swill to prove thee in the duties of marriage, be ready to fulfillHis will." With this consoling thought (but yet with a hope for thefulfillment of her forbidden earthly longing) Princess Mary sighed,and having crossed herself went down, thinking neither of her gown andcoiffure nor of how she would go in nor of what she would say. Whatcould all that matter in comparison with the will of God, withoutWhose care not a hair of man's head can fall?

CHAPTER IV

When Princess Mary came down, Prince Vasili and his son were alreadyin the drawing room, talking to the little princess and MademoiselleBourienne. When she entered with her heavy step, treading on herheels, the gentlemen and Mademoiselle Bourienne rose and the littleprincess, indicating her to the gentlemen, said: "Voila Marie!"Princess Mary saw them all and saw them in detail. She saw PrinceVasili's face, serious for an instant at the sight of her, butimmediately smiling again, and the little princess curiously notingthe impression "Marie" produced on the visitors. And she sawMademoiselle Bourienne, with her ribbon and pretty face, and herunusually animated look which was fixed on him, but him she couldnot see, she only saw something large, brilliant, and handsomemoving toward her as she entered the room. Prince Vasili approachedfirst, and she kissed the bold forehead that bent over her hand andanswered his question by saying that, on the contrary, sheremembered him quite well. Then Anatole came up to her. She stillcould not see him. She only felt a soft hand taking hers firmly, andshe touched with her lips a white forehead, over which was beautifullight-brown hair smelling of pomade. When she looked up at him she wasstruck by his beauty. Anatole stood with his right thumb under abutton of his uniform, his chest expanded and his back drawn in,slightly swinging one foot, and, with his head a little bent, lookedwith beaming face at the princess without speaking and evidently notthinking about her at all. Anatole was not quick-witted, nor readyor eloquent in conversation, but he had the faculty, so invaluablein society, of composure and imperturbable self-possession. If a manlacking in self-confidence remains dumb on a first introduction andbetrays a consciousness of the impropriety of such silence and ananxiety to find something to say, the effect is bad. But Anatole wasdumb, swung his foot, and smilingly examined the princess' hair. Itwas evident that he could be silent in this way for a very longtime. "If anyone finds this silence inconvenient, let him talk, butI don't want to"' he seemed to say. Besides this, in his behavior towomen Anatole had a manner which particularly inspires in themcuriosity, awe, and even love- a supercilious consciousness of his ownsuperiority. It was was as if he said to them: "I know you, I knowyou, but why should I bother about you? You'd be only too glad, ofcourse." Perhaps he did not really think this when he met women-even probably he did not, for in general he thought very little- buthis looks and manner gave that impression. The princess felt this, andas if wishing to show him that she did not even dare expect tointerest him, she turned to his father. The conversation was generaland animated, thanks to Princess Lise's voice and little downy lipthat lifted over her white teeth. She met Prince Vasili with thatplayful manner often employed by lively chatty people, andconsisting in the assumption that between the person they so addressand themselves there are some semi-private, long-established jokes andamusing reminiscences, though no such reminiscences really exist- justas none existed in this case. Prince Vasili readily adopted her toneand the little princess also drew Anatole, whom she hardly knew,into these amusing recollections of things that had never occurred.Mademoiselle Bourienne also shared them and even Princess Mary feltherself pleasantly made to share in these merry reminiscences.

"Here at least we shall have the benefit of your company all toourselves, dear prince," said the little princess (of course, inFrench) to Prince Vasili. "It's not as at Annette's* receptionswhere you always ran away; you remember cette chere Annette!"

*Anna Pavlovna.

"Ah, but you won't talk politics to me like Annette!"

"And our little tea table?"

"Oh, yes!"

"Why is it you were never at Annette's?" the little princess askedAnatole. "Ah, I know, I know," she said with a sly glance, "yourbrother Hippolyte told me about your goings on. Oh!" and she shook herfinger at him, "I have even heard of your doings in Paris!"

"And didn't Hippolyte tell you?" asked Prince Vasili, turning to hisson and seizing the little princess' arm as if she would have run awayand he had just managed to catch her, "didn't he tell you how hehimself was pining for the dear princess, and how she showed him thedoor? Oh, she is a pearl among women, Princess," he added, turningto Princess Mary.

When Paris was mentioned, Mademoiselle Bourienne for her part seizedthe opportunity of joining in the general current of recollections.

She took the liberty of inquiring whether it was long sinceAnatole had left Paris and how he had liked that city. Anatoleanswered the Frenchwoman very readily and, looking at her with asmile, talked to her about her native land. When he saw the prettylittle Bourienne, Anatole came to the conclusion that he would notfind Bald Hills dull either. "Not at all bad!" he thought, examiningher, "not at all bad, that little companion! I hope she will bring heralong with her when we're married, la petite est gentille."*

*The little one is charming.

The old prince dressed leisurely in his study, frowning andconsidering what he was to do. The coming of these visitors annoyedhim. "What are Prince Vasili and that son of his to me? PrinceVasili is a shallow braggart and his son, no doubt, is a finespecimen," he grumbled to himself. What angered him was that thecoming of these visitors revived in his mind an unsettled questionhe always tried to stifle, one about which he always deceived himself.The question was whether he could ever bring himself to part fromhis daughter and give her to a husband. The prince never directlyasked himself that question, knowing beforehand that he would haveto answer it justly, and justice clashed not only with his feelingsbut with the very possibility of life. Life without Princess Mary,little as he seemed to value her, was unthinkable to him. "And whyshould she marry?" he thought. "To be unhappy for certain. There'sLise, married to Andrew- a better husband one would think could hardlybe found nowadays- but is she contented with her lot? And who wouldmarry Marie for love? Plain and awkward! They'll take her for herconnections and wealth. Are there no women living unmarried, andeven the happier for it?" So thought Prince Bolkonski whiledressing, and yet the question he was always putting off demanded animmediate answer. Prince Vasili had brought his son with the evidentintention of proposing, and today or tomorrow he would probably askfor an answer. His birth and position in society were not bad."Well, I've nothing against it," the prince said to himself, "but hemust be worthy of her. And that is what we shall see."

"That is what we shall see! That is what we shall see!" he addedaloud.

He entered the drawing room with his usual alert step, glancingrapidly round the company. He noticed the change in the littleprincess' dress, Mademoiselle Bourienne's ribbon, Princess Mary'sunbecoming coiffure, Mademoiselle Bourienne's and Anatole's smiles,and the loneliness of his daughter amid the general conversation. "Gotherself up like a fool!" he thought, looking irritably at her. "She isshameless, and he ignores her!"

He went straight up to Prince Vasili.

"Well! How d'ye do? How d'ye do? Glad to see you!"

"Friendship laughs at distance," began Prince Vasili in his usualrapid, self-confident, familiar tone. "Here is my second son; pleaselove and befriend him."

Prince Bolkonski surveyed Anatole.

"Fine young fellow! Fine young fellow!" he said. "Well, come andkiss me," and he offered his cheek.

Anatole kissed the old man, and looked at him with curiosity andperfect composure, waiting for a display of the eccentricities hisfather had told him to expect.

Prince Bolkonski sat down in his usual place in the corner of thesofa and, drawing up an armchair for Prince Vasili, pointed to itand began questioning him about political affairs and news. Heseemed to listen attentively to what Prince Vasili said, but keptglancing at Princess Mary.

"And so they are writing from Potsdam already?" he said, repeatingPrince Vasili's last words. Then rising, he suddenly went up to hisdaughter.

"Is it for visitors you've got yourself up like that, eh?" saidhe. "Fine, very fine! You have done up your hair in this new way forthe visitors, and before the visitors I tell you that in future youare never to dare to change your way of dress without my consent."

"You must do as you please," said Prince Bolkonski, bowing to hisdaughter-in-law, "but she need not make a fool of herself, she's plainenough as it is."

And he sat down again, paying no more attention to his daughter, whowas reduced to tears.

"On the contrary, that coiffure suits the princess very well,"said Prince Vasili.

"Now you, young prince, what's your name?" said Prince Bolkonski,turning to Anatole, "come here, let us talk and get acquainted."

"Now the fun begins," thought Anatole, sitting down with a smilebeside the old prince.

"Well, my dear boy, I hear you've been educated abroad, not taughtto read and write by the deacon, like your father and me. Now tell me,my dear boy, are you serving in the Horse Guards?" asked the oldman, scrutinizing Anatole closely and intently.

"No, I have been transferred to the line," said Anatole, hardly ableto restrain his laughter.

"Ah! That's a good thing. So, my dear boy, you wish to serve theTsar and the country? It is wartime. Such a fine fellow must serve.Well, are you off to the front?"

"No, Prince, our regiment has gone to the front, but I amattached... what is it I am attached to, Papa?" said Anatole,turning to his father with a laugh.

"And so you've had him educated abroad, Prince Vasili, haven't you?"said the old prince to Prince Vasili.

"I have done my best for him, and I can assure you the educationthere is much better than ours."

"Yes, everything is different nowadays, everything is changed. Thelad's a fine fellow, a fine fellow! Well, come with me now." He tookPrince Vasili's arm and led him to his study. As soon as they werealone together, Prince Vasili announced his hopes and wishes to theold prince.

"Well, do you think I shall prevent her, that I can't part fromher?" said the old prince angrily. "What an idea! I'm ready for ittomorrow! Only let me tell you, I want to know my son-in-law better.You know my principles- everything aboveboard? I will ask her tomorrowin your presence; if she is willing, then he can stay on. He canstay and I'll see." The old prince snorted. "Let her marry, it's allthe same to me!" he screamed in the same piercing tone as when partingfrom his son.

"I will tell you frankly," said Prince Vasili in the tone of acrafty man convinced of the futility of being cunning with sokeen-sighted companion. "You know, you see right through people.Anatole is no genius, but he is an honest, goodhearted lad; anexcellent son or kinsman."

"All right, all right, we'll see!"

As always happens when women lead lonely lives for any length oftime without male society, on Anatole's appearance all the three womenof Prince Bolkonski's household felt that their life had not been realtill then. Their powers of reasoning, feeling, and observingimmediately increased tenfold, and their life, which seemed to havebeen passed in darkness, was suddenly lit up by a new brightness, fullof significance.

Princess Mary grew quite unconscious of her face and coiffure. Thehandsome open face of the man who might perhaps be her husbandabsorbed all her attention. He seemed to her kind, brave,determined, manly, and magnanimous. She felt convinced of that.Thousands of dreams of a future family life continually rose in herimagination. She drove them away and tried to conceal them.

"But am I not too cold with him?" thought the princess. "I try to bereserved because in the depth of my soul I feel too near to himalready, but then he cannot know what I think of him and may imaginethat I do not like him."

And Princess Mary tried, but could not manage, to be cordial toher new guest. "Poor girl, she's devilish ugly!" thought Anatole.

Mademoiselle Bourienne, also roused to great excitement by Anatole'sarrival, thought in another way. Of course, she, a handsome youngwoman without any definite position, without relations or even acountry, did not intend to devote her life to serving PrinceBolkonski, to reading aloud to him and being friends with PrincessMary. Mademoiselle Bourienne had long been waiting for a Russianprince who, able to appreciate at a glance her superiority to theplain, badly dressed, ungainly Russian princesses, would fall inlove with her and carry her off; and here at last was a Russianprince. Mademoiselle Bourienne knew a story, heard from her aunt butfinished in her own way, which she liked to repeat to herself. Itwas the story of a girl who had been seduced, and to whom her poormother (sa pauvre mere) appeared, and reproached her for yielding to aman without being married. Mademoiselle Bourienne was often touched totears as in imagination she told this story to him, her seducer. Andnow he, a real Russian prince, had appeared. He would carry her awayand then sa pauvre mere would appear and he would marry her. So herfuture shaped itself in Mademoiselle Bourienne's head at the very timeshe was talking to Anatole about Paris. It was not calculation thatguided her (she did not even for a moment consider what she shoulddo), but all this had long been familiar to her, and now thatAnatole had appeared it just grouped itself around him and shewished and tried to please him as much as possible.

The little princess, like an old war horse that hears the trumpet,unconsciously and quite forgetting her condition, prepared for thefamiliar gallop of coquetry, without any ulterior motive or anystruggle, but with naive and lighthearted gaiety.

Although in female society Anatole usually assumed the role of a mantired of being run after by women, his vanity was flattered by thespectacle of his power over these three women. Besides that, he wasbeginning to feel for the pretty and provocative MademoiselleBourienne that passionate animal feeling which was apt to master himwith great suddenness and prompt him to the coarsest and most recklessactions.

After tea, the company went into the sitting room and PrincessMary was asked to play on the clavichord. Anatole, laughing and inhigh spirits, came and leaned on his elbows, facing her and besideMademoiselle Bourienne. Princess Mary felt his look with a painfullyjoyous emotion. Her favorite sonata bore her into a most intimatelypoetic world and the look she felt upon her made that world still morepoetic. But Anatole's expression, though his eyes were fixed on her,referred not to her but to the movements of Mademoiselle Bourienne'slittle foot, which he was then touching with his own under theclavichord. Mademoiselle Bourienne was also looking at PrincessMary, and in her lovely eyes there was a look of fearful joy andhope that was also new to the princess.

"How she loves me!" thought Princess Mary. "How happy I am now,and how happy I may be with such a friend and such a husband! Husband?Can it be possible?" she thought, not daring to look at his face,but still feeling his eyes gazing at her.

In the evening, after supper, when all were about to retire, Anatolekissed Princess Mary's hand. She did not know how she found thecourage, but she looked straight into his handsome face as it camenear to her shortsighted eyes. Turning from Princess Mary he went upand kissed Mademoiselle Bourienne's hand. (This was not etiquette, butthen he did everything so simply and with such assurance!)Mademoiselle Bourienne flushed, and gave the princess a frightenedlook.

"What delicacy! " thought the princess. "Is it possible that Amelie"(Mademoiselle Bourienne) "thinks I could be jealous of her, and notvalue her pure affection and devotion to me?" She went up to her andkissed her warmly. Anatole went up to kiss the little princess' hand.

"No! No! No! When your father writes to tell me that you arebehaving well I will give you my hand to kiss. Not till then!" shesaid. And smilingly raising a finger at him, she left the room.

CHAPTER V

They all separated, but, except Anatole who fell asleep as soon ashe got into bed, all kept awake a long time that night.

"Is he really to be my husband, this stranger who is so kind- yes,kind, that is the chief thing," thought Princess Mary; and fear, whichshe had seldom experienced, came upon her. She feared to look round,it seemed to her that someone was there standing behind the screenin the dark corner. And this someone was he- the devil- and he wasalso this man with the white forehead, black eyebrows, and red lips.

She rang for her maid and asked her to sleep in her room.

Mademoiselle Bourienne walked up and down the conservatory for along time that evening, vainly expecting someone, now smiling atsomeone, now working herself up to tears with the imaginary words ofher pauvre mere rebuking her for her fall.

The little princess grumbled to her maid that her bed was badlymade. She could not lie either on her face or on her side. Everyposition was awkward and uncomfortable, and her burden oppressed hernow more than ever because Anatole's presence had vividly recalledto her the time when she was not like that and when everything waslight and gay. She sat in an armchair in her dressing jacket andnightcap and Katie, sleepy and disheveled, beat and turned the heavyfeather bed for the third time, muttering to herself.

"I told you it was all lumps and holes!" the little princessrepeated. "I should be glad enough to fall asleep, so it's not myfault!" and her voice quivered like that of a child about to cry.

The old prince did not sleep either. Tikhon, half asleep, heardhim pacing angrily about and snorting. The old prince felt as thoughhe had been insulted through his daughter. The insult was the morepointed because it concerned not himself but another, his daughter,whom he loved more than himself. He kept telling himself that he wouldconsider the whole matter and decide what was right and how heshould act, but instead of that he only excited himself more and more.

"The first man that turns up- she forgets her father andeverything else, runs upstairs and does up her hair and wags hertail and is unlike herself! Glad to throw her father over! And sheknew I should notice it. Fr... fr... fr! And don't I see that thatidiot had eyes only for Bourienne- I shall have to get rid of her. Andhow is it she has not pride enough to see it? If she has no pridefor herself she might at least have some for my sake! She must beshown that the blockhead thinks nothing of her and looks only atBourienne. No, she has no pride... but I'll let her see...."

The old prince knew that if he told his daughter she was making amistake and that Anatole meant to flirt with Mademoiselle Bourienne,Princess Mary's self-esteem would be wounded and his point (not tobe parted from her) would be gained, so pacifying himself with thisthought, he called Tikhon and began to undress.

"What devil brought them here?" thought he, while Tikhon was puttingthe nightshirt over his dried-up old body and gray-haired chest. "Inever invited them. They came to disturb my life- and there is notmuch of it left."

"Devil take 'em!" he muttered, while his head was still covered bythe shirt.

Tikhon knew his master's habit of sometimes thinking aloud, andtherefore met with unaltered looks the angrily inquisitiveexpression of the face that emerged from the shirt.

"Gone to bed?" asked the prince.

Tikhon, like all good valets, instinctively knew the direction ofhis master's thoughts. He guessed that the question referred to PrinceVasili and his son.

"They have gone to bed and put out their lights, your excellency."

"No good... no good..." said the prince rapidly, and thrusting hisfeet into his slippers and his arms into the sleeves of his dressinggown, he went to the couch on which he slept.

Though no words had passed between Anatole and MademoiselleBourienne, they quite understood one another as to the first part oftheir romance, up to the appearance of the pauvre mere; theyunderstood that they had much to say to one another in private andso they had been seeking an opportunity since morning to meet oneanother alone. When Princess Mary went to her father's room at theusual hour, Mademoiselle Bourienne and Anatole met in theconservatory.

Princess Mary went to the door of the study with specialtrepidation. It seemed to her that not only did everybody know thather fate would be decided that day, but that they also knew what shethought about it. She read this in Tikhon's face and in that of PrinceVasili's valet, who made her a low bow when she met him in thecorridor carrying hot water.

The old prince was very affectionate and careful in his treatment ofhis daughter that morning. Princess Mary well knew this painstakingexpression of her father's. His face wore that expression when his dryhands clenched with vexation at her not understanding a sum inarithmetic, when rising from his chair he would walk away from her,repeating in a low voice the same words several times over.

He came to the point at once, treating her ceremoniously.

"I have had a proposition made me concerning you," he said with anunnatural smile. "I expect you have guessed that Prince Vasili has notcome and brought his pupil with him" (for some reason Prince Bolkonskireferred to Anatole as a "pupil") "for the sake of my beautifuleyes. Last night a proposition was made me on your account and, as youknow my principles, I refer it to you."

"How am I to understand you, mon pere?" said the princess, growingpale and then blushing.

"How understand me!" cried her father angrily. "Prince Vasilifinds you to his taste as a daughter-in-law and makes a proposal toyou on his pupil's behalf. That's how it's to be understood! 'Howunderstand it'!... And I ask you!"

"I do not know what you think, Father," whispered the princess.

"I? I? What of me? Leave me out of the question. I'm not going toget married. What about you? That's what I want to know."

The princess saw that her father regarded the matter withdisapproval, but at that moment the thought occurred to her that herfate would be decided now or never. She lowered her eyes so as notto see the gaze under which she felt that she could not think, butwould only be able to submit from habit, and she said: "I wish only todo your will, but if I had to express my own desire..." She had notime to finish. The old prince interrupted her.

"That's admirable!" he shouted. "He will take you with your dowryand take Mademoiselle Bourienne into the bargain. She'll be thewife, while you..."

The prince stopped. He saw the effect these words had produced onhis daughter. She lowered her head and was ready to burst into tears.

"Now then, now then, I'm only joking!" he said. "Remember this,Princess, I hold to the principle that a maiden has a full right tochoose. I give you freedom. Only remember that your life's happinessdepends on your decision. Never mind me!"

"But I do not know, Father!"

"There's no need to talk! He receives his orders and will marryyou or anybody; but you are free to choose.... Go to your room,think it over, and come back in an hour and tell me in his presence:yes or no. I know you will pray over it. Well, pray if you like, butyou had better think it over. Go! Yes or no, yes or no, yes or no!" hestill shouted when the princess, as if lost in a fog, had alreadystaggered out of the study.

Her fate was decided and happily decided. But what her father hadsaid about Mademoiselle Bourienne was dreadful. It was untrue to besure, but still it was terrible, and she could not help thinking ofit. She was going straight on through the conservatory, neither seeingnor hearing anything, when suddenly the well-known whispering ofMademoiselle Bourienne aroused her. She raised her eyes, and two stepsaway saw Anatole embracing the Frenchwoman and whispering something toher. With a horrified expression on his handsome face, Anatolelooked at Princess Mary, but did not at once take his arm from thewaist of Mademoiselle Bourienne who had not yet seen her.

"Who's that? Why? Wait a moment!" Anatole's face seemed to say.Princess Mary looked at them in silence. She could not understandit. At last Mademoiselle Bourienne gave a scream and ran away. Anatolebowed to Princess Mary with a gay smile, as if inviting her to join ina laugh at this strange incident, and then shrugging his shoulderswent to the door that led to his own apartments.

An hour later, Tikhon came to call Princess Mary to the oldprince; he added that Prince Vasili was also there. When Tikhon cameto her Princess Mary was sitting on the sofa in her room, holdingthe weeping Mademoiselle Bourienne in her arms and gently stroking herhair. The princess' beautiful eyes with all their former calm radiancewere looking with tender affection and pity at MademoiselleBourienne's pretty face.

"No, Princess, I have lost your affection forever!" saidMademoiselle Bourienne.

"Why? I love you more than ever," said Princess Mary, "and I willtry to do all I can for your happiness."

"But you despise me. You who are so pure can never understandbeing so carried away by passion. Oh, only my poor mother..."

"I quite understand," answered Princess Mary, with a sad smile."Calm yourself, my dear. I will go to my father," she said, and wentout.

Prince Vasili, with one leg thrown high over the other and asnuffbox in his hand, was sitting there with a smile of deep emotionon his face, as if stirred to his heart's core and himselfregretting and laughing at his own sensibility, when Princess Maryentered. He hurriedly took a pinch of snuff.

"Fr... fr..." snorted Prince Bolkonski. "The prince is making aproposition to you in his pupil's- I mean, his son's- name. Do youwish or not to be Prince Anatole Kuragin's wife? Reply: yes or no," heshouted, "and then I shall reserve the right to state my opinion also.Yes, my opinion, and only my opinion," added Prince Bolkonski, turningto Prince Vasili and answering his imploring look. "Yes, or no?"

"My desire is never to leave you, Father, never to separate mylife from yours. I don't wish to marry," she answered positively,glancing at Prince Vasili and at her father with her beautiful eyes.

"Humbug! Nonsense! Humbug, humbug, humbug!" cried PrinceBolkonski, frowning and taking his daughter's hand; he did not kissher, but only bending his forehead to hers just touched it, andpressed her hand so that she winced and uttered a cry.

Prince Vasili rose.

"My dear, I must tell you that this is a moment I shall never, neverforget. But, my dear, will you not give us a little hope of touchingthis heart, so kind and generous? Say 'perhaps'... The future is solong. Say 'perhaps.'"

"Prince, what I have said is all there is in my heart. I thank youfor the honor, but I shall never be your son's wife."

"Well, so that's finished, my dear fellow! I am very glad to haveseen you. Very glad! Go back to your rooms, Princess. Go!" said theold prince. "Very, very glad to have seen you," repeated he,embracing Prince Vasili.

"My vocation is a different one," thought Princess Mary. "Myvocation is to be happy with another kind of happiness, thehappiness of love and self-sacrifice. And cost what it may, I willarrange poor Amelie's happiness, she loves him so passionately, and sopassionately repents. I will do all I can to arrange the match betweenthem. If he is not rich I will give her the means; I will ask myfather and Andrew. I shall be so happy when she is his wife. She is sounfortunate, a stranger, alone, helpless! And, oh God, howpassionately she must love him if she could so far forget herself!Perhaps I might have done the same!..." thought Princess Mary.

CHAPTER VI

It was long since the Rostovs had news of Nicholas. Not tillmidwinter was the count at last handed a letter addressed in his son'shandwriting. On receiving it, he ran on tiptoe to his study in alarmand haste, trying to escape notice, closed the door, and began to readthe letter.

Anna Mikhaylovna, who always knew everything that passed in thehouse, on hearing of the arrival of the letter went softly into theroom and found the count with it in his hand, sobbing and laughingat the same time.

Anna Mikhaylovna, though her circumstances had improved, was stillliving with the Rostovs.

"My dear friend?" said she, in a tone of pathetic inquiry,prepared to sympathize in any way.

Anna Mikhaylovna sat down beside him, with her own handkerchiefwiped the tears from his eyes and from the letter, then having driedher own eyes she comforted the count, and decided that at dinner andtill teatime she would prepare the countess, and after tea, with God'shelp, would inform her.

At dinner Anna Mikhaylovna talked the whole time about the warnews and about Nikolenka, twice asked when the last letter had beenreceived from him, though she knew that already, and remarked thatthey might very likely be getting a letter from him that day. Eachtime that these hints began to make the countess anxious and sheglanced uneasily at the count and at Anna Mikhaylovna, the latter veryadroitly turned the conversation to insignificant matters. Natasha,who, of the whole family, was the most gifted with a capacity tofeel any shades of intonation, look, and expression, pricked up herears from the beginning of the meal and was certain that there wassome secret between her father and Anna Mikhaylovna, that it hadsomething to do with her brother, and that Anna Mikhaylovna waspreparing them for it. Bold as she was, Natasha, who knew howsensitive her mother was to anything relating to Nikolenka, did notventure to ask any questions at dinner, but she was too excited to eatanything and kept wriggling about on her chair regardless of hergoverness' remarks. After dinner, she rushed head long after AnnaMikhaylovna and, dashing at her, flung herself on her neck as soonas she overtook her in the sitting room.

"But for God's sake, be careful, you know how it may affect yourmamma."

"I will, I will, only tell me! You won't? Then I will go and tell atonce."

Anna Mikhaylovna, in a few words, told her the contents of theletter, on condition that she should tell no one.

"No, on my true word of honor," said Natasha,crossing herself, "Iwon't tell anyone!" and she ran off at once to Sonya.

"Nikolenka... wounded... a letter," she announced in gleefultriumph.

"Nicholas!" was all Sonya said, instantly turning white.

Natasha, seeing the impression the of her brother's wound producedon Sonya, felt for the first time the sorrowful side of the news.

She rushed to Sonya, hugged her, and began to cry.

"A little wound, but he has been made an officer; he is well now, hewrote himself," said she through her tears.

"There now! It's true that all you women are crybabies," remarkedPetya, pacing the room with large, resolute strides. "Now I'm veryglad, very glad indeed, that my brother has distinguished himselfso. You are all blubberers and understand nothing."

"If I'd been in Nikolenka's place I would have killed even more ofthose Frenchmen," he said. "What nasty brutes they are! I'd havekilled so many that there'd have been a heap of them."

"Hold your tongue, Petya, what a goose you are!"

"I'm not a goose, but they are who cry about trifles," said Petya.

"Do you remember him?" Natasha suddenly asked, after a moment'ssilence.

Sonya smiled.

"Do I remember Nicholas?"

"No, Sonya, but do you remember so that you remember himperfectly, remember everything?" said Natasha, with an expressivegesture, evidently wishing to give her words a very definitemeaning. "I remember Nikolenka too, I remember him well," she said."But I don't remember Boris. I don't remember him a bit."

"What! You don't remember Boris?" asked Sonya in surprise.

"It's not that I don't remember- I know what he is like, but notas I remember Nikolenka. Him- I just shut my eyes and remember, butBoris... No!" (She shut her eyes.)"No! there's nothing at all."

"Oh, Natasha!" said Sonya, looking ecstatically and earnestly at herfriend as if she did not consider her worthy to hear what she meant tosay and as if she were saying it to someone else, with whom joking wasout of the question, "I am in love with your brother once for all and,whatever may happen to him or to me, shall never cease to love himas long as I live."

Natasha looked at Sonya with wondering and inquisitive eyes, andsaid nothing. She felt that Sonya was speaking the truth, that therewas such love as Sonya was speaking of. But Natasha had not yet feltanything like it. She believed it could be, but did not understand it.

"Shall you write to him?" she asked.

Sonya became thoughtful. The question of how to write to Nicholas,and whether she ought to write, tormented her. Now that he was alreadyan officer and a wounded hero, would it be right to remind him ofherself and, as it might seem, of the obligations to her he hadtaken on himself?

"I don't know. I think if he writes, I will write too," she said,blushing.

"And you won't feel ashamed to write to him?"

Sonya smiled.

"No."

"And I should be ashamed to write to Boris. I'm not going to."

"Why should you be ashamed?"

"Well, I don't know. It's awkward and would make me ashamed."

"And I know why she'd be ashamed," said Petya, offended by Natasha'sprevious remark. "It's because she was in love with that fat one inspectacles" (that was how Petya described his namesake, the newCount Bezukhov) "and now she's in love with that singer" (he meantNatasha's Italian singing master), "that's why she's ashamed!"

"Petya, you're a stupid!" said Natasha.

"Not more stupid than you, madam," said the nine-year-old Petya,with the air of an old brigadier.

The countess had been prepared by Anna Mikhaylovna's hints atdinner. On retiring to her own room, she sat in an armchair, hereyes fixed on a miniature portrait of her son on the lid of asnuffbox, while the tears kept coming into her eyes. Anna Mikhaylovna,with the letter, came on tiptoe to the countess' door and paused.

"Don't come in," she said to the old count who was following her."Come later." And she went in, closing the door behind her.

The count put his ear to the keyhole and listened.

At first he heard the sound of indifferent voices, then AnnaMikhaylovna's voice alone in a long speech, then a cry, thensilence, then both voices together with glad intonations, and thenfootsteps. Anna Mikhaylovna opened the door. Her face wore the proudexpression of a surgeon who has just performed a difficult operationand admits the public to appreciate his skill.

"It is done!" she said to the count, pointing triumphantly to thecountess, who sat holding in one hand the snuffbox with its portraitand in the other the letter, and pressing them alternately to herlips.

When she saw the count, she stretched out her arms to him,embraced his bald head, over which she again looked at the letterand the portrait, and in order to press them again to her lips, sheslightly pushed away the bald head. Vera, Natasha, Sonya, and Petyanow entered the room, and the reading of the letter began. After abrief description of the campaign and the two battles in which hehad taken part, and his promotion, Nicholas said that he kissed hisfather's and mother's hands asking for their blessing, and that hekissed Vera, Natasha, and Petya. Besides that, he sent greetings toMonsieur Schelling, Madame Schoss, and his old nurse, and asked themto kiss for him "dear Sonya, whom he loved and thought of just thesame as ever." When she heard this Sonya blushed so that tears cameinto her eyes and, unable to bear the looks turned upon her, ranaway into the dancing hall, whirled round it at full speed with herdress puffed out like a balloon, and, flushed and smiling, plumpeddown on the floor. The countess was crying.

"Why are you crying, Mamma?" asked Vera. "From all he says oneshould be glad and not cry."

This was quite true, but the count, the countess, and Natasha lookedat her reproachfully. "And who is it she takes after?" thought thecountess.

Nicholas' letter was read over hundreds of times, and those who wereconsidered worthy to hear it had to come to the countess, for shedid not let it out of her hands. The tutors came, and the nurses,and Dmitri, and several acquaintances, and the countess reread theletter each time with fresh pleasure and each time discovered in itfresh proofs of Nikolenka's virtues. How strange, how extraordinary,how joyful it seemed, that her son, the scarcely perceptible motion ofwhose tiny limbs she had felt twenty years ago within her, that sonabout whom she used to have quarrels with the too indulgent count,that son who had first learned to say "pear" and then "granny," thatthis son should now be away in a foreign land amid strangesurroundings, a manly warrior doing some kind of man's work of hisown, without help or guidance. The universal experience of ages,showing that children do grow imperceptibly from the cradle tomanhood, did not exist for the countess. Her son's growth towardmanhood, at each of its stages, had seemed as extraordinary to heras if there had never existed the millions of human beings who grew upin the same way. As twenty years before, it seemed impossible that thelittle creature who lived somewhere under her heart would ever cry,suck her breast, and begin to speak, so now she could not believe thatthat little creature could be this strong, brave man, this model sonand officer that, judging by this letter, he now was.

"What a style! How charmingly he describes!" said she, reading thedescriptive part of the letter. "And what a soul! Not a word abouthimself.... Not a word! About some Denisov or other, though hehimself, I dare say, is braver than any of them. He says nothing abouthis sufferings. What a heart! How like him it is! And how he hasremembered everybody! Not forgetting anyone. I always said when he wasonly so high- I always said...."

For more than a week preparations were being made, rough drafts ofletters to Nicholas from all the household were written and copiedout, while under the supervision of the countess and the solicitude ofthe count, money and all things necessary for the uniform andequipment of the newly commissioned officer were collected. AnnaMikhaylovna, practical woman that she was, had even managed by favorwith army authorities to secure advantageous means of communicationfor herself and her son. She had opportunities of sending herletters to the Grand Duke Constantine Pavlovich, who commanded theGuards. The Rostovs supposed that The Russian Guards, Abroad, wasquite a definite address, and that if a letter reached the GrandDuke in command of the Guards there was no reason why it should notreach the Pavlograd regiment, which was presumably somewhere in thesame neighborhood. And so it was decided to send the letters and moneyby the Grand Duke's courier to Boris and Boris was to forward themto Nicholas. The letters were from the old count, the countess, Petya,Vera, Natasha, and Sonya, and finally there were six thousand rublesfor his outfit and various other things the old count sent to his son.

CHAPTER VII

On the twelfth of November, Kutuzov's active army, in camp beforeOlmutz, was preparing to be reviewed next day by the two Emperors- theRussian and the Austrian. The Guards, just arrived from Russia,spent the night ten miles from Olmutz and next morning were to comestraight to the review, reaching the field at Olmutz by ten o'clock.

That day Nicholas Rostov received a letter from Boris, telling himthat the Ismaylov regiment was quartered for the night ten milesfrom Olmutz and that he wanted to see him as he had a letter and moneyfor him. Rostov was particularly in need of money now that the troops,after their active service, were stationed near Olmutz and the campswarmed with well-provisioned sutlers and Austrian Jews offering allsorts of tempting wares. The Pavlograds held feast after feast,celebrating awards they had received for the campaign, and madeexpeditions to Olmutz to visit a certain Caroline the Hungarian, whohad recently opened a restaurant there with girls as waitresses.Rostov, who had just celebrated his promotion to a cornetcy and boughtDenisov's horse, Bedouin, was in debt all round, to his comrades andthe sutlers. On receiving Boris' letter he rode with a fellowofficer to Olmutz, dined there, drank a bottle of wine, and then setoff alone to the Guards' camp to find his old playmate. Rostov had notyet had time to get his uniform. He had on a shabby cadet jacket,decorated with a soldier's cross, equally shabby cadet's ridingbreeches lined with worn leather, and an officer's saber with asword knot. The Don horse he was riding was one he had bought from aCossack during the campaign, and he wore a crumpled hussar cap stuckjauntily back on one side of his head. As he rode up to the camp hethought how he would impress Boris and all his comrades of theGuards by his appearance- that of a fighting hussar who had been underfire.

The Guards had made their whole march as if on a pleasure trip,parading their cleanliness and discipline. They had come by easystages, their knapsacks conveyed on carts, and the Austrianauthorities had provided excellent dinners for the officers at everyhalting place. The regiments had entered and left the town withtheir bands playing, and by the Grand Duke's orders the men hadmarched all the way in step (a practice on which the Guards pridedthemselves), the officers on foot and at their proper posts. Boris hadbeen quartered, and had marched all the way, with Berg who was alreadyin command of a company. Berg, who had obtained his captaincy duringthe campaign, had gained the confidence of his superiors by hispromptitude and accuracy and had arranged his money matters verysatisfactorily. Boris, during the campaign, had made theacquaintance of many persons who might prove useful to him, and by aletter of recommendation he had brought from Pierre had becomeacquainted with Prince Andrew Bolkonski, through whom he hoped toobtain a post on the commander in chief's staff. Berg and Boris,having rested after yesterday's march, were sitting, clean andneatly dressed, at a round table in the clean quarters allotted tothem, playing chess. Berg held a smoking pipe between his knees.Boris, in the accurate way characteristic of him, was building alittle pyramid of chessmen with his delicate white fingers whileawaiting Berg's move, and watched his opponent's face, evidentlythinking about the game as he always thought only of whatever he wasengaged on.

"Here he is at last!" shouted Rostov. "And Berg too! Oh, youpetisenfans, allay cushay dormir!" he exclaimed, imitating his Russiannurse's French, at which he and Boris used to laugh long ago.

"Dear me, how you have changed!"

Boris rose to meet Rostov, but in doing so did not omit to steadyand replace some chessmen that were falling. He was about to embracehis friend, but Nicholas avoided him. With that peculiar feeling ofyouth, that dread of beaten tracks, and wish to express itself in amanner different from that of its elders which is often insincere,Nicholas wished to do something special on meeting his friend. Hewanted to pinch him, push him, do anything but kiss him- a thingeverybody did. But notwithstanding this, Boris embraced him in aquiet, friendly way and kissed him three times.

They had not met for nearly half a year and, being at the age whenyoung men take their first steps on life's road, each saw immensechanges in the other, quite a new reflection of the society in whichthey had taken those first steps. Both had changed greatly sincethey last met and both were in a hurry to show the changes that hadtaken place in them.

"Oh, you damned dandies! Clean and fresh as if you'd been to a fete,not like us sinners of the line," cried Rostov, with martial swaggerand with baritone notes in his voice, new to Boris, pointing to hisown mud-bespattered breeches. The German landlady, hearing Rostov'sloud voice, popped her head in at the door.

"Eh, is she pretty?" he asked with a wink.

"Why do you shout so? You'll frighten them!" said Boris. "I didnot expect you today," he added. "I only sent you the note yesterdayby Bolkonski- an adjutant of Kutuzov's, who's a friend of mine. Idid not think he would get it to you so quickly.... Well, how are you?Been under fire already?" asked Boris.

Without answering, Rostov shook the soldier's Cross of St. Georgefastened to the cording of his uniform and, indicating a bandaged arm,glanced at Berg with a smile.

"As you see," he said.

"Indeed? Yes, yes!" said Boris, with a smile. "And we too have had asplendid march. You know, of course, that His Imperial Highness rodewith our regiment all the time, so that we had every comfort and everyadvantage. What receptions we had in Poland! What dinners and balls! Ican't tell you. And the Tsarevich was very gracious to all ourofficers."

And the two friends told each other of their doings, the one ofhis hussar revels and life in the fighting line, the other of thepleasures and advantages of service under members of the Imperialfamily.

"Oh, you Guards!" said Rostov. "I say, send for some wine."

Boris made a grimace.

"If you really want it," said he.

He went to his bed, drew a purse from under the clean pillow, andsent for wine.

"Yes, and I have some money and a letter to give you," he added.

Rostov took the letter and, throwing the money on the sofa, put botharms on the table and began to read. After reading a few lines, heglanced angrily at Berg, then, meeting his eyes, hid his face behindthe letter.

"Well, they've sent you a tidy sum," said Berg, eying the heavypurse that sank into the sofa. "As for us, Count, we get along onour pay. I can tell you for myself..."

"I say, Berg, my dear fellow," said Rostov, "when you get a letterfrom home and meet one of your own people whom you want to talkeverything over with, and I happen to be there, I'll go at once, to beout of your way! Do go somewhere, anywhere... to the devil!" heexclaimed, and immediately seizing him by the shoulder and lookingamiably into his face, evidently wishing to soften the rudeness of hiswords, he added, "Don't be hurt, my dear fellow; you know I speak frommy heart as to an old acquaintance."

"Oh, don't mention it, Count! I quite understand," said Berg,getting up and speaking in a muffled and guttural voice.

"Go across to our hosts: they invited you," added Boris.

Berg put on the cleanest of coats, without a spot or speck ofdust, stood before a looking glass and brushed the hair on his templesupwards, in the way affected by the Emperor Alexander, and, havingassured himself from the way Rostov looked at it that his coat hadbeen noticed, left the room with a pleasant smile.

"Oh dear, what a beast I am!" muttered Rostov, as he read theletter.

"Why?"

"Oh, what a pig I am, not to have written and to have given themsuch a fright! Oh, what a pig I am!" he repeated, flushing suddenly."Well, have you sent Gabriel for some wine? All right let's havesome!"

In the letter from his parents was enclosed a letter ofrecommendation to Bagration which the old countess at AnnaMikhaylovna's advice had obtained through an acquaintance and sentto her son, asking him to take it to its destination and make use ofit.

"What nonsense! Much I need it!" said Rostov, throwing the letterunder the table.

"Why have you thrown that away?" asked Boris.

"It is some letter of recommendation... what the devil do I wantit for!"

"Why 'What the devil'?" said Boris, picking it up and reading theaddress. "This letter would be of great use to you."

"I want nothing, and I won't be anyone's adjutant."

"Why not?" inquired Boris.

"It's a lackey's job!"

"You are still the same dreamer, I see," remarked Boris, shaking hishead.

"And you're still the same diplomatist! But that's not thepoint... Come, how are you?" asked Rostov.

"Well, as you see. So far everything's all right, but I confess Ishould much like to be an adjutant and not remain at the front."

"Why?"

"Because when once a man starts on military service, he should tryto make as successful a career of it as possible."

"Oh, that's it!" said Rostov, evidently thinking of something else.

He looked intently and inquiringly into his friend's eyes, evidentlytrying in vain to find the answer to some question.

Old Gabriel brought in the wine.

"Shouldn't we now send for Berg?" asked Boris. "He would drinkwith you. I can't."

"Well, send for him... and how do you get on with that German?"asked Rostov, with a contemptuous smile.

"He is a very, very nice, honest, and pleasant fellow," answeredBoris.

Again Rostov looked intently into Boris' eyes and sighed. Bergreturned, and over the bottle of wine conversation between the threeofficers became animated. The Guardsmen told Rostov of their march andhow they had been made much of in Russia, Poland, and abroad. Theyspoke of the sayings and doings of their commander, the Grand Duke,and told stories of his kindness and irascibility. Berg, as usual,kept silent when the subject did not relate to himself, but inconnection with the stories of the Grand Duke's quick temper herelated with gusto how in Galicia he had managed to deal with theGrand Duke when the latter made a tour of the regiments and wasannoyed at the irregularity of a movement. With a pleasant smileBerg related how the Grand Duke had ridden up to him in a violentpassion, shouting: "Arnauts!" ("Arnauts" was the Tsarevich'sfavorite expression when he was in a rage) and called for thecompany commander.

"Would you believe it, Count, I was not at all alarmed, because Iknew I was right. Without boasting, you know, I may say that I knowthe Army Orders by heart and know the Regulations as well as I dothe Lord's Prayer. So, Count, there never is any negligence in mycompany, and so my conscience was at ease. I came forward...." (Bergstood up and showed how he presented himself, with his hand to hiscap, and really it would have been difficult for a face to expressgreater respect and self-complacency than his did.) "Well, hestormed at me, as the saying is, stormed and stormed and stormed! Itwas not a matter of life but rather of death, as the saying is.'Albanians!' and 'devils!' and 'To Siberia!'" said Berg with asagacious smile. "I knew I was in the right so I kept silent; wasnot that best, Count?... 'Hey, are you dumb?' he shouted. Still Iremained silent. And what do you think, Count? The next day it was noteven mentioned in the Orders of the Day. That's what keeping one'shead means. That's the way, Count," said Berg, lighting his pipe andemitting rings of smoke.

"Yes, that was fine," said Rostov, smiling.

But Boris noticed that he was preparing to make fun of Berg, andskillfully changed the subject. He asked him to tell them how andwhere he got his wound. This pleased Rostov and he began talking aboutit, and as he went on became more and more animated. He told them ofhis Schon Grabern affair, just as those who have taken part in abattle generally do describe it, that is, as they would like it tohave been, as they have heard it described by others, and as soundswell, but not at all as it really was. Rostov was a truthful young manand would on no account have told a deliberate lie. He began his storymeaning to tell everything just as it happened, but imperceptibly,involuntarily, and inevitably he lapsed into falsehood. If he had toldthe truth to his hearers- who like himself had often heard storiesof attacks and had formed a definite idea of what an attack was andwere expecting to hear just such a story- they would either not havebelieved him or, still worse, would have thought that Rostov washimself to blame since what generally happens to the narrators ofcavalry attacks had not happened to him. He could not tell them simplythat everyone went at a trot and that he fell off his horse andsprained his arm and then ran as hard as he could from a Frenchmaninto the wood. Besides, to tell everything as it really happened, itwould have been necessary to make an effort of will to tell onlywhat happened. It is very difficult to tell the truth, and youngpeople are rarely capable of it. His hearers expected a story of howbeside himself and all aflame with excitement, he had flown like astorm at the square, cut his way in, slashed right and left, how hissaber had tasted flesh and he had fallen exhausted, and so on. Andso he told them all that.

In the middle of his story, just as he was saying: "You cannotimagine what a strange frenzy one experiences during an attack,"Prince Andrew, whom Boris was expecting, entered the room. PrinceAndrew, who liked to help young men, was flattered by being askedfor his assistance and being well disposed toward Boris, who hadmanaged to please him the day before, he wished to do what the youngman wanted. Having been sent with papers from Kutuzov to theTsarevich, he looked in on Boris, hoping to find him alone. When hecame in and saw an hussar of the line recounting his military exploits(Prince Andrew could not endure that sort of man), he gave Boris apleasant smile, frowned as with half-closed eyes he looked atRostov, bowed slightly and wearily, and sat down languidly on thesofa: he felt it unpleasant to have dropped in on bad company.Rostov flushed up on noticing this, but he did not care, this was amere stranger. Glancing, however, at Boris, he saw that he tooseemed ashamed of the hussar of the line.

In spite of Prince Andrew's disagreeable, ironical tone, in spite ofthe contempt with which Rostov, from his fighting army point ofview, regarded all these little adjutants on the staff of whom thenewcomer was evidently one, Rostov felt confused, blushed, andbecame silent. Boris inquired what news there might be on the staff,and what, without indiscretion, one might ask about our plans.

"We shall probably advance," replied Bolkonski, evidentlyreluctant to say more in the presence of a stranger.

Berg took the opportunity to ask, with great politeness, whether, aswas rumored, the allowance of forage money to captains of companieswould be doubled. To this Prince Andrew answered with a smile thathe could give no opinion on such an important government order, andBerg laughed gaily.

"As to your business," Prince Andrew continued, addressing Boris,"we will talk of it later" (and he looked round at Rostov). "Come tome after the review and we will do what is possible."

And, having glanced round the room, Prince Andrew turned toRostov, whose state of unconquerable childish embarrassment nowchanging to anger he did not condescend to notice, and said: "Ithink you were talking of the Schon Grabern affair? Were you there?"

"I was there," said Rostov angrily, as if intending to insult theaide-de-camp.

Bolkonski noticed the hussar's state of mind, and it amused him.With a slightly contemptuous smile, he said: "Yes, there are manystories now told about that affair!"

"Yes, stories!" repeated Rostov loudly, looking with eyes suddenlygrown furious, now at Boris, now at Bolkonski. "Yes, many stories! Butour stories are the stories of men who have been under the enemy'sfire! Our stories have some weight, not like the stories of thosefellows on the staff who get rewards without doing anything!"

"Of whom you imagine me to be one?" said Prince Andrew, with a quietand particularly amiable smile.

A strange feeling of exasperation and yet of respect for thisman's self-possession mingled at that moment in Rostov's soul.

"I am not talking about you," he said, "I don't know you and,frankly, I don't want to. I am speaking of the staff in general."

"And I will tell you this," Prince Andrew interrupted in a tone ofquiet authority, "you wish to insult me, and I am ready to agreewith you that it would be very easy to do so if you haven't sufficientself-respect, but admit that the time and place are very badly chosen.In a day or two we shall all have to take part in a greater and moreserious duel, and besides, Drubetskoy, who says he is an old friend ofyours, is not at all to blame that my face has the misfortune todisplease you. However," he added rising, "you know my name andwhere to find me, but don't forget that I do not regard eithermyself or you as having been at all insulted, and as a man olderthan you, my advice is to let the matter drop. Well then, on Fridayafter the review I shall expect you, Drubetskoy. Au revoir!" exclaimedPrince Andrew, and with a bow to them both he went out.

Only when Prince Andrew was gone did Rostov think of what he oughtto have said. And he was still more angry at having omitted to say it.He ordered his horse at once and, coldly taking leave of Boris, rodehome. Should he go to headquarters next day and challenge thataffected adjutant, or really let the matter drop, was the questionthat worried him all the way. He thought angrily of the pleasure hewould have at seeing the fright of that small and frail but proudman when covered by his pistol, and then he felt with surprise that ofall the men he knew there was none he would so much like to have for afriend as that very adjutant whom he so hated.

CHAPTER VIII

The day after Rostov had been to see Boris, a review was held of theAustrian and Russian troops, both those freshly arrived from Russiaand those who had been campaigning under Kutuzov. The two Emperors,the Russian with his heir the Tsarevich, and the Austrian with theArchduke, inspected the allied army of eighty thousand men.

From early morning the smart clean troops were on the move,forming up on the field before the fortress. Now thousands of feet andbayonets moved and halted at the officers' command, turned withbanners flying, formed up at intervals, and wheeled round othersimilar masses of infantry in different uniforms; now was heard therhythmic beat of hoofs and the jingling of showy cavalry in blue, red,and green braided uniforms, with smartly dressed bandsmen in frontmounted on black, roan, or gray horses; then again, spreading out withthe brazen clatter of the polished shining cannon that quivered on thegun carriages and with the smell of linstocks, came the artillerywhich crawled between the infantry and cavalry and took up itsappointed position. Not only the generals in full parade uniforms,with their thin or thick waists drawn in to the utmost, their rednecks squeezed into their stiff collars, and wearing scarves and alltheir decorations, not only the elegant, pomaded officers, but everysoldier with his freshly washed and shaven face and his weaponsclean and polished to the utmost, and every horse groomed till itscoat shone like satin and every hair of its wetted mane lay smooth-felt that no small matter was happening, but an important and solemnaffair. Every general and every soldier was conscious of his owninsignificance, aware of being but a drop in that ocean of men, andyet at the same time was conscious of his strength as a part of thatenormous whole.

From early morning strenuous activities and efforts had begun and byten o'clock all had been brought into due order. The ranks weredrown up on the vast field. The whole army was extended in threelines: the cavalry in front, behind it the artillery, and behindthat again the infantry.

A space like a street was left between each two lines of troops. Thethree parts of that army were sharply distinguished: Kutuzov'sfighting army (with the Pavlograds on the right flank of the front);those recently arrived from Russia, both Guards and regiments of theline; and the Austrian troops. But they all stood in the same lines,under one command, and in a like order.

Like wind over leaves ran an excited whisper: "They're coming!They're coming!" Alarmed voices were heard, and a stir of finalpreparation swept over all the troops.

From the direction of Olmutz in front of them, a group was seenapproaching. And at that moment, though the day was still, a lightgust of wind blowing over the army slightly stirred the streamers onthe lances and the unfolded standards fluttered against theirstaffs. It looked as if by that slight motion the army itself wasexpressing its joy at the approach of the Emperors. One voice washeard shouting: "Eyes front!" Then, like the crowing of cocks atsunrise, this was repeated by others from various sides and all becamesilent.

In the deathlike stillness only the tramp of horses was heard.This was the Emperors' suites. The Emperors rode up to the flank,and the trumpets of the first cavalry regiment played the generalmarch. It seemed as though not the trumpeters were playing, but asif the army itself, rejoicing at the Emperors' approach, had naturallyburst into music. Amid these sounds, only the youthful kindly voice ofthe Emperor Alexander was clearly heard. He gave the words ofgreeting, and the first regiment roared "Hurrah!" so deafeningly,continuously, and joyfully that the men themselves were awed bytheir multitude and the immensity of the power they constituted.

Rostov, standing in the front lines of Kutuzov's army which the Tsarapproached first, experienced the same feeling as every other man inthat army: a feeling of self-forgetfulness, a proud consciousness ofmight, and a passionate attraction to him who was the cause of thistriumph.

He felt that at a single word from that man all this vast mass(and he himself an insignificant atom in it) would go through fire andwater, commit crime, die, or perform deeds of highest heroism, andso he could not but tremble and his heart stand still at the imminenceof that word.

"Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!" thundered from all sides, one regimentafter another greeting the Tsar with the strains of the march, andthen "Hurrah!"... Then the general march, and again "Hurrah!Hurrah!" growing ever stronger and fuller and merging into a deafeningroar.

Till the Tsar reached it, each regiment in its silence andimmobility seemed like a lifeless body, but as soon as he came up itbecame alive, its thunder joining the roar of the whole line alongwhich he had already passed. Through the terrible and deafening roarof those voices, amid the square masses of troops standingmotionless as if turned to stone, hundreds of riders composing thesuites moved carelessly but symmetrically and above all freely, and infront of them two men- the Emperors. Upon them the undivided,tensely passionate attention of that whole mass of men wasconcentrated.

The handsome young Emperor Alexander, in the uniform of the HorseGuards, wearing a cocked hat with its peaks front and back, with hispleasant face and resonant though not loud voice, attracted everyone'sattention.

Rostov was not far from the trumpeters, and with his keen sighthad recognized the Tsar and watched his approach. When he was withintwenty paces, and Nicholas could clearly distinguish every detail ofhis handsome, happy young face, he experienced a feeling tendernessand ecstasy such as he had never before known. Every trait and everymovement of the Tsar's seemed to him enchanting.

Stopping in front of the Pavlograds, the Tsar said something inFrench to the Austrian Emperor and smiled.

Seeing that smile, Rostov involuntarily smiled himself and felt astill stronger flow of love for his sovereign. He longed to showthat love in some way and knowing that this was impossible was readyto cry. The Tsar called the colonel of the regiment and said a fewwords to him.

"Oh God, what would happen to me if the Emperor spoke to me?"thought Rostov. "I should die of happiness!"

The Tsar addressed the officers also: "I thank you all, gentlemen, Ithank you with my whole heart." To Rostov every word sounded like avoice from heaven. How gladly would he have died at once for his Tsar!

"You have earned the St. George's standards and will be worthy ofthem."

"Oh, to die, to die for him " thought Rostov.

The Tsar said something more which Rostov did not hear, and thesoldiers, straining their lungs, shouted "Hurrah!"

Rostov too, bending over his saddle, shouted "Hurrah!" with allhis might, feeling that he would like to injure himself by that shout,if only to express his rapture fully.

The Tsar stopped a few minutes in front of the hussars as ifundecided.

"How can the Emperor be undecided?" thought Rostov, but then eventhis indecision appeared to him majestic and enchanting, likeeverything else the Tsar did.

That hesitation lasted only an instant. The Tsar's foot, in thenarrow pointed boot then fashionable, touched the groin of thebobtailed bay mare he rode, his hand in a white glove gathered upthe reins, and he moved off accompanied by an irregularly swayingsea of aides-de-camp. Farther and farther he rode away, stopping atother regiments, till at last only his white plumes were visible toRostov from amid the suites that surrounded the Emperors.

Among the gentlemen of the suite, Rostov noticed Bolkonski,sitting his horse indolently and carelessly. Rostov recalled theirquarrel of yesterday and the question presented itself whether heought or ought not to challenge Bolkonski. "Of course not!" he nowthought. "Is it worth thinking or speaking of it at such a moment?At a time of such love, such rapture, and such self-sacrifice, what doany of our quarrels and affronts matter? I love and forgiveeverybody now."

When the Emperor had passed nearly all the regiments, the troopsbegan a ceremonial march past him, and Rostov on Bedouin, recentlypurchased from Denisov, rode past too, at the rear of his squadron-that is, alone and in full view of the Emperor.

Before he reached him, Rostov, who was a splendid horseman,spurred Bedouin twice and successfully put him to the showy trot inwhich the animal went when excited. Bending his foaming muzzle tohis chest, his tail extended, Bedouin, as if also conscious of theEmperor's eye upon him, passed splendidly, lifting his feet with ahigh and graceful action, as if flying through the air withouttouching the ground.

Rostov himself, his legs well back and his stomach drawn in andfeeling himself one with his horse, rode past the Emperor with afrowning but blissful face "like a vewy devil," as Denisov expressedit.

"Fine fellows, the Pavlograds!" remarked the Emperor.

"My God, how happy I should be if he ordered me to leap into thefire this instant!" thought Rostov.

When the review was over, the newly arrived officers, and alsoKutuzov's, collected in groups and began to talk about the awards,about the Austrians and their uniforms, about their lines, aboutBonaparte, and how badly the latter would fare now, especially ifthe Essen corps arrived and Prussia took our side.

But the talk in every group was chiefly about the Emperor Alexander.His every word and movement was described with ecstasy.

They all had but one wish: to advance as soon as possible againstthe enemy under the Emperor's command. Commanded by the Emperorhimself they could not fail to vanquish anyone, be it whom it might:so thought Rostov and most of the officers after the review.

All were then more confident of victory than the winning of twobattles would have made them.

CHAPTER IX

The day after the review, Boris, in his best uniform and with hiscomrade Berg's best wishes for success, rode to Olmutz to seeBolkonski, wishing to profit by his friendliness and obtain forhimself the best post he could- preferably that of adjutant to someimportant personage, a position in the army which seemed to him mostattractive. "It is all very well for Rostov, whose father sends himten thousand rubles at a time, to talk about not wishing to cringeto anybody and not be anyone's lackey, but I who have nothing but mybrains have to make a career and must not miss opportunities, but mustavail myself of them!" he reflected.

He did not find Prince Andrew in Olmutz that day, but the appearanceof the town where the headquarters and the diplomatic corps werestationed and the two Emperors were living with their suites,households, and courts only strengthened his desire to belong tothat higher world.

He knew no one, and despite his smart Guardsman's uniform, all theseexalted personages passing in the streets in their elegant carriageswith their plumes, ribbons, and medals, both courtiers and militarymen, seemed so immeasurably above him, an insignificant officer of theGuards, that they not only did not wish to, but simply could not, beaware of his existence. At the quarters of the commander in chief,Kutuzov, where he inquired for Bolkonski, all the adjutants and eventhe orderlies looked at him as if they wished to impress on him that agreat many officers like him were always coming there and thateverybody was heartily sick of them. In spite of this, or ratherbecause of it, next day, November 15, after dinner he again went toOlmutz and, entering the house occupied by Kutuzov, asked forBolkonski. Prince Andrew was in and Boris was shown into a largehall probably formerly used for dancing, but in which five beds nowstood, and furniture of various kinds: a table, chairs, and aclavichord. One adjutant, nearest the door, was sitting at the tablein a Persian dressing gown, writing. Another, the red, stoutNesvitski, lay on a bed with his arms under his head, laughing with anofficer who had sat down beside him. A third was playing a Viennesewaltz on the clavichord, while a fourth, lying on the clavichord, sangthe tune. Bolkonski was not there. None of these gentlemen changed hisposition on seeing Boris. The one who was writing and whom Borisaddressed turned round crossly and told him Bolkonski was on dutyand that he should go through the door on the left into thereception room if he wished to see him. Boris thanked him and wentto the reception room, where he found some ten officers and generals.

When he entered, Prince Andrew, his eyes drooping contemptuously(with that peculiar expression of polite weariness which plainly says,"If it were not my duty I would not talk to you for a moment"), waslistening to an old Russian general with decorations, who stood veryerect, almost on tiptoe, with a soldier's obsequious expression on hispurple face, reporting something.

"Very well, then, be so good as to wait," said Prince Andrew tothe general, in Russian, speaking with the French intonation heaffected when he wished to speak contemptuously, and noticing Boris,Prince Andrew, paying no more heed to the general who ran after himimploring him to hear something more, nodded and turned to him witha cheerful smile.

At that moment Boris clearly realized what he had before surmised,that in the army, besides the subordination and disciplineprescribed in the military code, which he and the others knew in theregiment, there was another, more important, subordination, which madethis tight-laced, purple-faced general wait respectfully while CaptainPrince Andrew, for his own pleasure, chose to chat with LieutenantDrubetskoy. More than ever was Boris resolved to serve in future notaccording to the written code, but under this unwritten law. He feltnow that merely by having been recommended to Prince Andrew he hadalready risen above the general who at the front had the power toannihilate him, a lieutenant of the Guards. Prince Andrew came up tohim and took his hand.

"I am very sorry you did not find me in yesterday. I was fussingabout with Germans all day. We went with Weyrother to survey thedispositions. When Germans start being accurate, there's no end toit!"

Boris smiled, as if he understood what Prince Andrew was alluding toas something generally known. But it the first time he had heardWeyrother's name, or even the term "dispositions."

"Well, my dear fellow, so you still want to be an adjutant? I havebeen thinking about you."

"Yes, I was thinking"- for some reason Boris could not helpblushing- "of asking the commander in chief. He has had a letterfrom Prince Kuragin about me. I only wanted to ask because I fearthe Guards won't be in action," he added as if in apology.

While Prince Andrew went to report about the purple-faced general,that gentleman- evidently not sharing Boris' conception of theadvantages of the unwritten code of subordination- looked so fixedlyat the presumptuous lieutenant who had prevented his finishing what hehad to say to the adjutant that Boris felt uncomfortable. He turnedaway and waited impatiently for Prince Andrew's return from thecommander in chief's room.

"You see, my dear fellow, I have been thinking about you," saidPrince Andrew when they had gone into the large room where theclavichord was. "It's no use your going to the commander in chief.He would say a lot of pleasant things, ask you to dinner" ("That wouldnot be bad as regards the unwritten code," thought Boris), "butnothing more would come of it. There will soon be a battalion of usaides-de-camp and adjutants! But this is what we'll do: I have agood friend, an adjutant general and an excellent fellow, PrinceDolgorukov; and though you may not know it, the fact is that nowKutuzov with his staff and all of us count for nothing. Everythingis now centered round the Emperor. So we will go to Dolgorukov; I haveto go there anyhow and I have already spoken to him about you. Weshall see whether he cannot attach you to himself or find a placefor you somewhere nearer the sun."

Prince Andrew always became specially keen when he had to guide ayoung man and help him to worldly success. Under cover of obtaininghelp of this kind for another, which from pride he would neveraccept for himself, he kept in touch with the circle which conferssuccess and which attracted him. He very readily took up Boris'cause and went with him to Dolgorukov.

It was late in the evening when they entered the palace at Olmutzoccupied by the Emperors and their retinues.

That same day a council of war had been held in which all themembers of the Hofkriegsrath and both Emperors took part. At thatcouncil, contrary to the views of the old generals Kutuzov andPrince Schwartzenberg, it had been decided to advance immediatelyand give battle to Bonaparte. The council of war was just over whenPrince Andrew accompanied by Boris arrived at the palace to findDolgorukov. Everyone at headquarters was still under the spell ofthe day's council, at which the party of the young had triumphed.The voices of those who counseled delay and advised waiting forsomething else before advancing had been so completely silenced andtheir arguments confuted by such conclusive evidence of the advantagesof attacking that what had been discussed at the council- the comingbattle and the victory that would certainly result from it- nolonger seemed to be in the future but in the past. All theadvantages were on our side. Our enormous forces, undoubtedly superiorto Napoleon's, were concentrated in one place, the troops inspiredby the Emperors' presence were eager for action. The strategicposition where the operations would take place was familiar in all itsdetails to the Austrian General Weyrother: a lucky accident hadordained that the Austrian army should maneuver the previous year onthe very fields where the French had now to be fought; the adjacentlocality was known and shown in every detail on the maps, andBonaparte, evidently weakened, was undertaking nothing.

Dolgorukov, one of the warmest advocates of an attack, had justreturned from the council, tired and exhausted but eager and proudof the victory that had been gained. Prince Andrew introduced hisprotege, but Prince Dolgorukov politely and firmly pressing his handsaid nothing to Boris and, evidently unable to suppress the thoughtswhich were uppermost in his mind at that moment, addressed PrinceAndrew in French.

"Ah, my dear fellow, what a battle we have gained! God grant thatthe one that will result from it will be as victorious! However,dear fellow," he said abruptly and eagerly, "I must confess tohaving been unjust to the Austrians and especially to Weyrother.What exactitude, what minuteness, what knowledge of the locality, whatforesight for every eventuality, every possibility even to thesmallest detail! No, my dear fellow, no conditions better than ourpresent ones could have been devised. This combination of Austrianprecision with Russian valor- what more could be wished for?"

"So the attack is definitely resolved on?" asked Bolkonski.

"And do you know, my dear fellow, it seems to me that Bonapartehas decidedly lost bearings, you know that a letter was receivedfrom him today for the Emperor." Dolgorukov smiled significantly.

"Is that so? And what did he say?" inquired Bolkonski.

"What can he say? Tra-di-ri-di-ra and so on... merely to gaintime. I tell you he is in our hands, that's certain! But what was mostamusing," he continued, with a sudden, good-natured laugh, "was thatwe could not think how to address the reply! If not as 'Consul' and ofcourse not as 'Emperor,' it seemed to me it should be to 'GeneralBonaparte.'"

"But between not recognizing him as Emperor and calling himGeneral Bonaparte, there is a difference," remarked Bolkonski.

"All the same, it was Bilibin who found a suitable form for theaddress. He is a wise and clever fellow."

"What was it?"

"To the Head of the French Government... Au chef du gouvernementfrancais," said Dolgorukov, with grave satisfaction. "Good, wasn'tit?"

"Yes, but he will dislike it extremely," said Bolkonski.

"Oh yes, very much! My brother knows him, he's dined with him- thepresent Emperor- more than once in Paris, and tells me he never meta more cunning or subtle diplomatist- you know, a combination ofFrench adroitness and Italian play-acting! Do you know the taleabout him and Count Markov? Count Markov was the only man who knew howto handle him. You know the story of the handkerchief? It isdelightful!"

And the talkative Dolgorukov, turning now to Boris, now to PrinceAndrew, told how Bonaparte wishing to test Markov, our ambassador,purposely dropped a handkerchief in front of him and stood lookingat Markov, probably expecting Markov to pick it up for him, and howMarkov immediately dropped his own beside it and picked it upwithout touching Bonaparte's.

"Delightful!" said Bolkonski. "But I have come to you, Prince, asa petitioner on behalf of this young man. You see..." but beforePrince Andrew could finish, an aide-de-camp came in to summonDolgorukov to the Emperor.

"Oh, what a nuisance," said Dolgorukov, getting up hurriedly andpressing the hands of Prince Andrew and Boris. "You know I should bevery glad to do all in my power both for you and for this dear youngman." Again he pressed the hand of the latter with an expression ofgood-natured, sincere, and animated levity. "But you see... anothertime!"

Boris was excited by the thought of being so close to the higherpowers as he felt himself to be at that moment. He was consciousthat here he was in contact with the springs that set in motion theenormous movements of the mass of which in his regiment he felthimself a tiny, obedient, and insignificant atom. They followed PrinceDolgorukov out into the corridor and met- coming out of the door ofthe Emperor's room by which Dolgorukov had entered- a short man incivilian clothes with a clever face and sharply projecting jawwhich, without spoiling his face, gave him a peculiar vivacity andshiftiness of expression. This short man nodded to Dolgorukov as to anintimate friend and stared at Prince Andrew with cool intensity,walking straight toward him and evidently expecting him to bow or tostep out of his way. Prince Andrew did neither: a look of animosityappeared on his face and the other turned away and went down theside of the corridor.

"Who was that?" asked Boris.

"He is one of the most remarkable, but to me most unpleasant of men-the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Prince Adam Czartoryski.... It issuch men as he who decide the fate of nations," added Bolkonski with asigh he could not suppress, as they passed out of the palace.

Next day, the army began its campaign, and up to the very battleof Austerlitz, Boris was unable to see either Prince Andrew orDolgorukov again and remained for a while with the Ismaylov regiment.

CHAPTER X

At dawn on the sixteenth of November, Denisov's squadron, in whichNicholas Rostov served and which was in Prince Bagration's detachment,moved from the place where it had spent the night, advancing intoaction as arranged, and after going behind other columns for about twothirds of a mile was stopped on the highroad. Rostov saw theCossacks and then the first and second squadrons of hussars andinfantry battalions and artillery pass by and go forward and thenGenerals Bagration and Dolgorukov ride past with their adjutants.All the fear before action which he had experienced as previously, allthe inner struggle to conquer that fear, all his dreams ofdistinguishing himself as a true hussar in this battle, had beenwasted. Their squadron remained in reserve and Nicholas Rostov spentthat day in a dull and wretched mood. At nine in the morning, he heardfiring in front and shouts of hurrah, and saw wounded being broughtback (there were not many of them), and at last he saw how a wholedetachment of French cavalry was brought in, convoyed by a sontnyaof Cossacks. Evidently the affair was over and, though not big, hadbeen a successful engagement. The men and officers returning spokeof a brilliant victory, of the occupation of the town of Wischau andthe capture of a whole French squadron. The day was bright and sunnyafter a sharp night frost, and the cheerful glitter of that autumn daywas in keeping with the news of victory which was conveyed, not onlyby the tales of those who had taken part in it, but also by the joyfulexpression on the faces of soldiers, officers, generals, andadjutants, as they passed Rostov going or coming. And Nicholas, whohad vainly suffered all the dread that precedes a battle and had spentthat happy day in inactivity, was all the more depressed.

"Come here, Wostov. Let's dwink to dwown our gwief!" shoutedDenisov, who had settled down by the roadside with a flask and somefood.

The officers gathered round Denisov's canteen, eating and talking.

"There! They are bringing another!" cried one of the officers,indicating a captive French dragoon who was being brought in on footby two Cossacks.

One of them was leading by the bridle a fine large French horse hehad taken from the prisoner.

"Sell us that horse!" Denisov called out to the Cossacks.

"If you like, your honor!"

The officers got up and stood round the Cossacks and their prisoner.The French dragoon was a young Alsatian who spoke French with a Germanaccent. He was breathless with agitation, his face was red, and whenhe heard some French spoken he at once began speaking to the officers,addressing first one, then another. He said he would not have beentaken, it was not his fault but the corporal's who had sent him toseize some horsecloths, though he had told him the Russians werethere. And at every word he added: "But don't hurt my little horse!"and stroked the animal. It was plain that he did not quite grasp wherehe was. Now he excused himself for having been taken prisoner and now,imagining himself before his own officers, insisted on his soldierlydiscipline and zeal in the service. He brought with him into ourrearguard all the freshness of atmosphere of the French army, whichwas so alien to us.

The Cossacks sold the horse for two gold pieces, and Rostov, beingthe richest of the officers now that he had received his money, boughtit.

"But don't hurt my little horse!" said the Alsatian good-naturedlyto Rostov when the animal was handed over to the hussar.

Rostov smilingly reassured the dragoon and gave him money.

"Alley! Alley!" said the Cossack, touching the prisoner's arm tomake him go on.

"The Emperor! The Emperor!" was suddenly heard among the hussars.

All began to run and bustle, and Rostov saw coming up the roadbehind him several riders with white plumes in their hats. In a momenteveryone was in his place, waiting.

Rostov did not know or remember how he ran to his place and mounted.Instantly his regret at not having been in action and his dejectedmood amid people of whom he was weary had gone, instantly everythought of himself had vanished. He was filled with happiness at hisnearness to the Emperor. He felt that this nearness by itself madeup to him for the day he had lost. He was happy as a lover when thelonged-for moment of meeting arrives. Not daring to look round andwithout looking round, he was ecstatically conscious of hisapproach. He felt it not only from the sound of the hoofs of theapproaching cavalcade, but because as he drew near everything grewbrighter, more joyful, more significant, and more festive aroundhim. Nearer and nearer to Rostov came that sun shedding beams ofmild and majestic light around, and already he felt himselfenveloped in those beams, he heard his voice, that kindly, calm, andmajestic voice that was yet so simple! And as if in accord withRostov's feeling, there was a deathly stillness amid which was heardthe Emperor's voice.

"The Pavlograd hussars?" he inquired.

"The reserves, sire!" replied a voice, a very human one comparedto that which had said: "The Pavlograd hussars?"

The Emperor drew level with Rostov and halted. Alexander's facewas even more beautiful than it had been three days before at thereview. It shone with such gaiety and youth, such innocent youth, thatit suggested the liveliness of a fourteen-year-old boy, and yet it wasthe face of the majestic Emperor. Casually, while surveying thesquadron, the Emperor's eyes met Rostov's and rested on them for notmore than two seconds. Whether or no the Emperor understood what wasgoing on in Rostov's soul (it seemed to Rostov that he understoodeverything), at any rate his light-blue eyes gazed for about twoseconds into Rostov's face. A gentle, mild light poured from them.Then all at once he raised his eyebrows, abruptly touched his horsewith his left foot, and galloped on.

The younger Emperor could not restrain his wish to be present at thebattle and, in spite of the remonstrances of his courtiers, attwelve o'clock left the third column with which he had been andgalloped toward the vanguard. Before he came up with the hussars,several adjutants met him with news of the successful result of theaction.

This battle, which consisted in the capture of a French squadron,was represented as a brilliant victory over the French, and so theEmperor and the whole army, especially while the smoke hung over thebattlefield, believed that the French had been defeated and wereretreating against their will. A few minutes after the Emperor hadpassed, the Pavlograd division was ordered to advance. In Wischauitself, a petty German town, Rostov saw the Emperor again. In themarket place, where there had been some rather heavy firing before theEmperor's arrival, lay several killed and wounded soldiers whomthere had not been time to move. The Emperor, surrounded by hissuite of officers and courtiers, was riding a bobtailed chestnut mare,a different one from that which he had ridden at the review, andbending to one side he gracefully held a gold lorgnette to his eyesand looked at a soldier who lay prone, with blood on his uncoveredhead. The wounded soldier was so dirty, coarse, and revolting that hisproximity to the Emperor shocked Rostov. Rostov saw how the